The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, The Three Swords
by TheAstronomicon
Summary: A Lore-friendly but vastly different retelling of the events of The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. Many OCs are within, quests and dialogue have been expanded. Rated T for the moment but subject to change; Read, Review, Be Nice.
1. The Alternate Start

**Author's Foreword: **Welcome to an epic retelling of _The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim._ This story is a Lore-friendly _but vastly different_ telling of the events of Skyrim's quests; it includes the Main Quest, Dawnguard and Dragonborn; it also includes some of the very high quality "Quest Mods" available on the Skyrim Nexus. Canon is somewhat preserved but scenes and dialogue differ. If you're the type that skips majority of chapter one of Skyrim stories because "They're all the same" read this one properly, you may not be disappointed.

**Obligatory Legal Mess/Disclaimer: Thanks Bethesda for making The Elder Scrolls Series, which I do not own, nor likely ever will come into ownership of. The production of this work is done without any intent nor desire to make profit in monetary or any other payment system and is done purely for entertainment purposes.**

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_**The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim – The Three Swords**_

The Cyrodiilic Empire has been in decline for the passed two hundred years. Shattered in the offset of the Oblivion Crisis with the provinces of Black Marsh (Argonia), and Summer Set Isle (Alinor) seceding from the Empire during and after the Crisis respectively. Argonia would go onto conquer much of southern Morrowind, taking advantage of the weakened state of the province in the aftermath of the Eruption of Red Mountain. Alinor would go onto annex the provinces of Valenwood and Elsweyr after Thalmor (the ruling party of Alinor)-sympathetic coups following events in both provinces to shift government favor to their side. The renewed "Aldmeri Dominion" a union of Alinor and Valenwood would later be formed and Elsweyr broken down into client-states.

All of this was many years ago; as was The Great War that shattered the Empire even further, thousands died in the War between the Aldmeri Dominion and the Empire; the Empire barely survived the assault, bringing about a "Peace" known as the White-Gold Concordant that finally ended the slaughter.

Compounding issues further, Hammerfell under the concordant is foced to cede much of their southern coasts to the Aldmeri Dominion, which the native Redguards refuse, viewing the actions by the Empire selling out their land as a betrayal. In response Hammerfell secedes from the Empire in order to continue the fight against the Thalmor who they later fight to a bloody stalemate which ends in the Second Treaty of Stros M'Kai leading to the Aldmeri Dominion withdrawing from Hammerfell entirely. Along with this, the stipulations of the Concordant gave the Aldmeri Dominion rights to drive out conceived heresies throughout the Empire leading to uprisings; most notably in the province of Skyrim, currently engulfed in civil war between the beleaguered Empire wishing to assert its domain and the so called "Stormcloak Rebels" vying for the freedom of Skyrim in order to negate its obligation to the Concordant.

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**The Kingdom of Skyrim**

**Falkreath Hold – Helgen**

**Fourth Era – 201 **

The wagon shuddered as it was drug down the cobble stone road of the southern most reaches of Skyrim. Pale Pass was not too far from their current position leading down into the warmer climate of Cyrodiil of which much was ruined and being rebuilt. The entry into the relatively unscarred provincial Kingdom of Skyrim was one that was supposed to be easy; 'easy', becoming a bit of a misnomer after misjudging the location of the pass that was now behind them, and falling down a good bit of a mountain only to land in the middle of an ambush. Shortly after that it was a matter of being press-ganged into a caravan containing several dozen men and women in blue-white cloth covered chainmail and a noble of some kind wearing gray-black robes. Alongside them was a bear of a man in iron armor with an ornate helmet with horns.

The troupe which was surrounded by fifty swords of the Imperial Legion had been riding towards Solitude before the head of the caravan, the renown Legion General, Tullius, had ordered stop over in Helgen, the Imperial Legion's secondary foothold in Skyrim and overwatch host of its supply lines down into Cyrodiil. The guard presence in the fortress-town was light in terms of professionals, there were perhaps thirty swords of the Legion, reinforced by twenty swords of local citizens Militia called up to serve the Empire.

The caravan of prisoners and their Imperial escort came to a halt outside a secondary stone tower in a large courtyard, the only sounds for the moment being the whinnying of horses and the sound of swords being pulled from their scabbards. Under the careful eyes of both their escort and many archers on the walls around them the prisoners were gathered around. A few were fools and tried to run, archers arrows met them in the backs as they did so, dead before they met with the ground. The rest simply drew their last breaths in a thick silence as one by one their names were called and they went forward to the headsman; their heads held high. A total of six had been cleanly executed before the one in the iron armor was called up, his ornate helmet fell from his head as he was shoved to the block, revealing the stereotypical blond-blue eyed features of a Nord man.

A gluttral, ancient roar resounded through the mountains around Helgen as the axe from the headsman rose into the air, another roar resounded before a gargantuan beast from out of a nightmare landed atop the tower just as the headsman's axe came down clean on the Nord's neck, beheading him cleanly, the limp body falling off to the side. It roared once more in some ancient nightmarish language and blasted fire into and around the yard, sending men and women reeling, lit aflame by its fire.

It was an ancient beast, something right out of impossible legend, a dragon, the harbinger of the end-times. Any majesty which hid in that moment however was lost as people understandably went flailing in every possible direction. Soldiers aimed their bows at the beast, firing off well over a hundred shot-arrows toward it to little affect. It simply flew off, circling over them and blasting down with fire, rending buildings built of the hardest stone open like they were made of a poor cloth. This did not deter the men below, another volley this time mixed with powerful magic rose up and forced the beast to circle around from a different angle. It slammed into the side of one of the towers and sent a stream of hell-fire within, boiling to death those who had sought shelter inside of the tower. The dragon took off once more, flying down and landing on top of the main keep of the fortress, collapsing part of the roof as it did so under its tremendous girth. It let out another final roar of flame as all those still living made with all possible speed to flee for their lives in every direction.

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**The Kingdom of Skyrim**

**Falkreath Hold – Helgen**

**Fourth Era – 201**

**30 Minutes Prior**

There was a refined grace in the step of the woman who walked down the length of the southern gate to Helgen that led down to Cyrodiil. Indeed, everything about her was somewhat refined if not magical; she had long hair that if it were let down from its silver-broach loose knot, would no doubt flow with the wind. Her eyes were a bright almost Merish golden that fit her white flesh in a perfect contrast. She lacked the broad shoulders of a Nord woman and towered over them, yet she was not narrow like a Breton. Her features were more pointed than a man, and yet they were less so than Merish.

_ Ehlnomer_, the Mer called her; referring to her mortality, "Half-Elf" by men, she was more Merish than Man and less Man than Mer like the Bretons were, a precarious balance of the two primary races of her parents existing inside one being. While she did not look it by any means she was in her upper sixties, sixty four to be precise; while physically she did not look a day beyond her mid-twenties. She had Merish-styled ears, slightly pointed but not to the extent of a true Mer and when she spoke it was with the same arcane authority that the Altmer of Alinor spoke with, though it lacked the inherent sense of superiority that inhabited the Mer.

Her name was Adriana and while she lacked a formal family name a lot of people had come to calling her Elvenkin, which actually insulted her, as she considered herself no more elven than the most staunch of Stormcloak Nords. Her birth was a result of less than hegemonic circumstances a good many years in the past; past enough that she had buried her Nordic mother before she went off to fight in her youth in the Great War in the name of the Empire whose citizens scorned her as a Thalmor agent, when in all reality she had a burning hatred for the Thalmor that was matched by few, indeed even the Jarl of Windhelm could scarce imagine her distaste for the Aldmeri Dominion's ruling party.

"On the field at Anvil, and this happens..." Her eloquent voice echoed through the air as she looked down from her position above the gates of Helgen with disdain at the sight of General Tullius, a man she had the utmost respect for as an officer, speaking to the damn elves as a prisoner caravan shuddered through the gates led by soldiers on all sides of it; within the carriages were the varied bodies of rag-tag Stormcloak soldiers and a few other people of varied origins, though they were the minority by far. Adriana let out a ragged sigh as she placed a hand on the pommel of her well made steel longsword and continued her round down the wall, stopping further down to watch as the caravan came to a halt.

What happened next, even all her years of experience, utterly shocked the half-elf to the core. The dragon that descended on Helgen without effort destroyed the settlement and sent seasoned men at arms, herself included, running for cover like children from a beating. An old soldier's instinct boiled inside her as she looked over to the main courtyard by Helgen's southern gate which had been secured moments before to prevent prisoners from fleeing, at the moment it was the position of several Imperial Battlemages and the rearing horse of General Tullius who was drawing his own sword in between bellowing orders to archers and mages to sustain fire on the dragon while also ordering the light and heavy infantrymen to get the townspeople to safety.

Like a well oiled Dwemer contraption she obeyed those orders though they were not specifically given to her. After hoisting herself down from the wall she was on top of, part of which was now a smoldering wreck, she ran across the distance to the general's attache and passed him as he yelled at her to abandon the field, flee into the keep as other soldiers were doing; momentarily however she ignored him, heaving with inhuman might that no mortal man possessed to remove the heavy closing bar on the gates which blocked their retreat. The wooden beam clattered to the ground with a crash before she pushed the gates outward with a great heave afterwhich she turned and along with several others who weren't going through those gates; made a barreling run towards the Keep.

She came to the main courtyard just in time to see the dragon land heavily on its roof, spouting fire from its maw when it dawned on her that _it was talking. _Not a single other person noticed, she attributed it to the panic however as she filed into the fortress keep. Inside she finally breathed, gulping down ragged breaths of air in desperation to keep from passing out as her adrenaline subsided, though she was no where near tired. There were about...ten of them who made it to the Keep, she recognized none of them but that was not truly relevant as they went down deeper into the keep, there were people all about, some wounded, some worse; waiting for the siege to subside so they could flee safely. They spread out and milled about for the most part with the exception of Adriana, who walked with a pointed purpose down even further into the Keep, stairways gave way to a collapsed corridor, ash filtered down from the sky above like the fires from Red Mountain, despite being caused by what was considered a legend until but a moment ago.

Through store-rooms and down into a torture room that made her morality twinge before she finally arrived at the series of natural caverns that ran under Helgen, long used by the Legion as a place to store supplies as well as for an emergency exit in times of siege; and finally she ran across another person. "Wait up!" She cried out to who turned out to be a tall Nord man in armor usually favored by Legion Scouts. "Hadvar! Good to see you!" Adriana said as she caught up to him, like herself the lineman had been assigned to Helgen, one of the professionals in the garrison; and she was glad to see, one of the few who wasn't wounded.

"Likewise, good to see another friendly face." Hadvar responded with his somewhat baritone voice. "Did anyone else make it out?"

"Honestly I don't know, there are people in the upper levels, waiting for the all clear." She responded to his query as they entered into the caverns, there was not much conversation after that, all was quiet, which she was thankful for. After some time they came to a natural exit. "We need to get word to Riverwood, it's the closest town to here." Hadvar spoke up as they stepped out into the cold air of the early afternoon. "My uncle lives there."

Adriana patted his shoulder as they stepped down from the outcropping the cavern opening was on. "They're fine I'm sure." Though as she said it there was a resonance of disbelief in her words considering what the beast had done to a Legion garrison. The duo descended the mountain at an even pace, paranoid eyes cast skyward as they did so, every so often the baying of a wolf caught their attention for but a moment before they once more turned their eyes to the sky.

No beasts gave pause to bother them as they wandered on to the roads of Skyrim in attendance of seeking swift passage to Riverwood, which they came to in quiet, a peaceful calm like a lull before a storm. An old woman cause their paranoia to spike however when she started yelling how she had seen a dragon, instinct took their hands down to their sword hilts but they paused after seeing there was at the moment, no danger. Hadvar crossed over to the smithy which smelled of fire and steel, a revolting scent at the moment; especially to Adriana's somewhat heightened senses. He bade his uncle greetings and told him that they were better off talking in detail inside his home, where they found themselves a minute later...


	2. Riverwood and a Tomb

Author's Note: Thanks for the excellent reviews folks; to the one reviewer who decided to point some things out, read the entry from the Imperial Library below. If no one has noticed by the end of this chapter, this story will be moving slowly in terms of plot advancement; updates will become more regular from here on out.

As Always, I own nothing.

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Notes on Racial Phylogeny and Biology,

Seventh Edition

by the Council of Healers, Imperial University

After much analysis of living specimens, the Council long ago determined that all "races" of elves and humans may mate with each other and bear fertile offspring. Generally the offspring bear the racial traits of the mother, though some traces of the father's race may also be present. It is less clear whether the Argonians and Khajiit are interfertile with both humans and elves. Though there have been many reports throughout the Eras of children from these unions, as well as stories of unions with daedra, there have been no well documented offspring. Khajiit differ from humans and elves not only their skeletal and dermal physiology - the "fur" that covers their bodies - but their metabolism and digestion as well. Argonians, like the dreugh, appear to be a semi-aquatic troglophile form of humans, though it is by no means clear whether the Argonians should be classified with dreugh, men, mer, or (in this author's opinion), certain tree-dwelling lizards in Black Marsh.

The reproductive biology of orcs is at present not well understood, and the same is true of goblins, trolls, harpies, dreugh, tsaesci, imga, various daedra and many others. Certainly, there have been cases of intercourse between these "races," generally in the nature of rape or magickal seduction, but there have been no documented cases of pregnancy. Still the interfertility of these creatures and the civilized hominids has yet to be empirically established or refuted, likely due to the deep cultural differences.

Surely any normal Bosmer or Breton impregnated by an orc would keep that shame to herself, and there's no reason to suppose that an orc maiden impregnated by a human would not be likewise ostracized by her society. Regrettably, our oaths as healers keep us from forcing a coupling to satisfy our scientific knowledge. We do know, however, that the Sload of Thras are hermaphrodites in their youth and later reabsorb their reproductive organs once they are old enough to move about on land. It can be safely assumed that they are not interfertile with men or mer.

One might further wonder whether the proper classification of these same "races," to use the imprecise but useful term, should be made from the assumption of a common heritage and the differences between them have arisen from magickal experimentation, the manipulations of the so-called "Earth Bones," or from gradual changes from one generation to the next.

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**The Kingdom of Skyrim**

**Whiterun Hold – Riverwood**

**4E – 201**

The interior of the blacksmith's home was warm and welcoming, a roaring fire consumed a hearth in the center of the floor and a table with relatively comfortable and stable chairs sat off to the side while the family's beds were off to the other side of the room. There was a root cellar below them which stored roots, foodstuffs and various other belongings no doubt. Both Hadvar and Adriana explained in length and to as much detail as they could muster the events which had transpired in Helgen, the growing horror on Alvor's face well understood by both.

It was not an easy story to tell, as even though they had been there, it was a hard tale to swallow. When they had finally finished, which wasn't that long a period considering, the blacksmith stared at them long and hard, as though he were trying to deduce if they were heavily drunken or not. Having decided they were indeed sober and of sound mind he let out a heavy sigh before he waved a hand in dejection, there was nothing to be done of the fact, what was done was done after all. Alvor stood up heavily from his table before he spoke again; speaking but not talking to anyone in particular. "The Jarl, Balgruuf in Whiterun needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. Riverwood has no militia, no men at arms and no garrison anymore, someone needs to tell him to send whatever soldiers he can." The man was rightly concerned, all things considered.

"I'll be outside when you're ready, Hadvar. It's safer if we head to Whiterun together, then you can get a carriage to Solitude and report to the General." Adriana spoke as she stood up and pushed Alvor's door open, stepping back into the afternoon air. The sun was waning in the sky now, on its way to descending for the night. She took a moment to actually look around the small town, noting that the focal point of the town was the road she was standing adjacent to. Alvor's home and smithy were on one side, the lumber mill was behind that on an islet she saw when they were coming in, and across the misshapen stones of the road was what looked to be a general trader and further down by a few square feet and across another smaller road that cut the town in half, was the inn with its prettily painted sign to attract travelers.

The militiawoman could barely make out the tops of the few houses beyond those two buildings but really didn't care to. Her attention was brought back to the gateless arc of Riverwood's main wall which faced Falkreath Hold at the sight of two villagers who were supporting another, wounded man in the colors of the Stormcloak Army. Whatever sides there were in war, it never ceased to amaze her the empathy that people managed to have for other people, even if they disagreed with what they were doing; especially when they were bleeding. She turned for a moment and poked her head into the blacksmith's house once more, "Stay in here, trust me." She quickly said to Hadvar before closing the door without explanation and walking down the plank-steps of the abode and up the road, a loose hand on her sword's hilt, though the man was at this moment, no threat to anything that wasn't cute and furry.

She waved the two villagers off, the man managed to hold himself up for a long second before he started to teeter, wherein she stepped in and caught him under his remaining good shoulder. "I'd ask what happened to you, but from the direction you came from I'd say the same thing as me." The man managed a dark, if not pained, chuckle as he leaned more of his weight onto her, receiving no complaint. The half-elf shifted her own weight to better accommodate the man as she walked him slowly down the street; after a few uneven steps more it became evident that he wasn't going to be standing much longer, indeed it was a sheer miracle he'd made it this far without collapse. Adriana's eyes darted around in response before they came to rest on a cart outside the general trader, it was large enough to hold a man and looked sturdy, judging by the healthy looking heads of cabbage sitting in them. "Bit further comrade, hang in there."

"I'm not dead yet." He replied somewhat raggedly; sounding somewhat unsteady.

"Hadvar!" Adriana yelled across the road as she leaned the ragged man up against the cart they'd reached, he wasn't bleeding, yet, and that was thankful. The bear of the Nord came out of his uncles house with his hand steady on his sword's hilt, and was enroute to drawing it when he saw the wounded man that Adriana was propping up. "Get over here and help me with him!" The Nord crossed the road to the town leery the entire time. "Hold him and gently for the love of Akatosh." She half-commanded, he obeyed, however unwillingly with a look in his eyes that stated there was more to his dislike than simple sides in some war, there was true bad blood between them. The half-Nord pushed the door open to the trader, inside there were two people; presumably the owners, arguing. "Sorry to break this beautiful conversation up but I need your help!" She yelled over top of their yelling, it got their attention immediately.

"I need clean linen and boiling water, and whatever healing potions you have. I'll see you're paid but I need it last season." She stressed quickly, the two nodded for whatever their anger forgotten in the moment. The smaller of the two, a woman set about filling a large pot over the hearth's already burning fire with water, hissing steam rising out of the vessel as the first wave hit its already heated bottom. The other, an older man pressed clean rolls of linen into her arms and ushered her back out as he rummaged around his shelves for the few potions he had left in stock; the war had been taking its toll on them.

Adriana stepped back into the sunlight to see Hadvar still holding the man up. "You do not have permission to die yet." She quickly said before she started unrolling one of the linen rolls and began to wrap the man's more heavily bruised and discolored shoulder. "Adriana by the way, pleased to meet you."

The man coughed slightly and managed a half-smile half-grimace "Ralof." The shop keepers came out a few minutes later, the male with a few crystal jars with swirling semi-magical liquid in them and a few bits of the herbs needed to induce that effect and his partner with a smaller vessel filled with steaming water. Magnus was even lower in the sky now; casting long shadows on the earth as it came down for the evening. Adriana in response worked quickly, yet carefully and dutifully with the skill of someone who had done this not just once before but many times.

It was a clear candlemark more before she'd finished, though by then Ralof was breathing normally and could stand well on his own again. "You should come down to Whiterun with us, there's a temple there that can do more than I can muster."

Ralof, after a long hard moment of looking Hadvar straight in the eye with almost as much hate as Adriana held towards the Aldmeri; agreed. The Half-Nord turned to the shop keeper who had been waiting expectantly and produced a leather pouch of coin. "No, I don't think so. I've got something else you can do to repay me." Odd for an Imperial, the thought crossed her mind as he spoke. "Thieves made off with an artifact of mine, in the shape of a dragon's claw and made of solid gold. From what I've heard they made their way to Bleak Falls Barrow, just on top of that mountain over there." He pointed, forcing her to turn her head; a rather ominous looking structure sat proud and darkly on the peak of the mountain. "You've got to be joking..."

"It's that or a thousand Septims." She sighed and pondered knocking the Imperial out but refrained, barely.

"Fine, I'll get your ruddy statue; you're going to be waiting a few days I promise you that though. But you will get it." Adriana said rather irritably as she was walking away from the man. The small troupe of three made their way out of Riverwood, across a strong stone bridge that went over the white river before the road split off. A less traveled path led up the mountain and there was the common road down to the valley below them. "I'll head to Whiterun later, you two should go. Don't stab one another, I didn't save his life for you to end it." Adriana said pointing at both of them as she went over the life saving.

Hadvar gave a nod and headed off down the road while Ralof made no notion at all but a slight wave of his good arm and similarly headed off down the main road. "Do me a favor and don't die, and if you ever make it to Windhelm, Ulfric Stormcloak would want to see you." The Stormcloak said as he walked away.

Adriana just nodded slightly before she sighed deeply and started trekking up the mountain path. Magnus finished its descent from the sky as she made her way up, basking the sky in the lights of Atherius, thousands and thousands of sparks filling the deep blue of Kyne's glory. The Half-Nord made her way more carefully up in the darkness so not to slip on the many loose stones, and besides a single lone wolf that limped with injury, that did not make him less ferocious when he attempted to make a meal of her; she was left alone. The wind of the night was biting cold when she rounded a bend in the mountain pass, the sheer enormity of Bleak Falls was not at all lost on her, it was simply, even in its ruined state the most absolutely massive thing she had ever seen, great arches shot up towards the sky as though weightless while stairs build to accommodate the feet of giants and men alike went up the side of what was the most ornate and carved temple she had ever seen. Nordic runes were visible even from her distance, covering every horizontal surface telling the stories and epics of the Ancient Nedes and their Nordic descendants.

In its own religious way it was more beautiful than all the temples of all the Divines. Beautiful or not however she was not here to bask in the glory of the ancient Nedes. Holding herself against the biting wind and in pitch blackness that even a Khaijit would think twice before advancing through she made her way towards the great construct.

The low rising and impressive stone stairs came up from the Earth to greet her as she arrived at their base, at the top there were the moving figures of men on the flat platform of the temple's fore-area, there was not more than four from the best she could tell, carefully the Half-Nord crept up the stairs, while she was no assassin she moved with a certain weightlessness that was naturally attached to her lesser Merish grace. Her hand remained strongly on her sword's hilt, ready to be drawn at any given moment as she reached the top; like a shadow she moved behind one of the collapsed yet still remarkably intact pillars that was large enough to hide her lithe form.

Without a moment to rest she drew her sword as silently as the blade's bulk allowed, thankfully the action's noise was lost in the howling gale that was coming across the mountain. While she was no lithe and nimble Khaijit she slipped up behind one of the four and without a hint of remorse the steel sword in her hand went through the poorly made fur that covered his torso and came out his chest, there was no scream of pain, there was simply no time for him to do so as blood flooded his lungs and he fell over choking on it. Unfortunately the other three saw the would-be assassination and two of them came charging in with swords at the ready, Adriana barely had the time to stand up before the two were on top of her, the first blade, a cumbersome great-sword she sidestepped while simultaneously parrying the second, a dull looking sword made of iron. An arrow shot passed her head making her blink before she ducked a second arrow and parried another blow from the man with the iron blade.

It was a deadly dance, more choreographed than the hacking melees of the Great War that she was used to, but they were thankfully untrained petty thieves who made off looking intimidating than actually being skilled in warfare. The half-nord spun on her heels before she came forward in a single motion, her sword sliding passed the guard of the great-sword as she danced under his wide swing, a shower of blood and internal organs greeted her as she yanked her sword from the now disemboweled man, this caused a lapse in the motions of the other bandit, it was enough in its timing that she stepped in with a powerful broad-swing, the bandit brought up his sword but true to the unreliability of iron weapons it snapped in half at the hilt and his head ended up rolling across the ground.

Another arrow went flying passed her as the archer started backing up rapidly, though it was far too late for any sort of retreat as Adriana bounded across the distance between them barely avoiding death by another arrow that actually impacted her armor but did not manage to go through. She brought her sword up in a wild and nearly uncontrollable barbaric swing as she crested the second level of stairs, the bandit brought his bow up to cover himself but it did not help, the strongly made and spry wood gave way to the steel of her blade and severed in clean half, now disarmed the bandit outright turned and started to run, while no mass murderer but certainly unwilling to let her quarry escape Adriana pulled her secondary weapon, a sharp steel dagger from her belt and flung it with all possible force at the bandit, the blade struck the man in the back and sent him tumbling over the edge of the raised dias, resulting in a sickening crack of flesh and bone. "I'm really going to miss that knife..." She lamented before making her way up to the absolutely enormous doors of the temple, which were thankfully adjar. "Getting too old for this..." She mumbled to herself as she stepped into the relative warmth of the cavernous temple, ancient torch scones lined far walls, two of which were directly behind the door and one contained a burning torch which she lifted out of its scone and held it aloft.

The fiery light from the torch cast long and shallow shadows across the room as she advanced across the gallery. Great pillars dominated the arched room, holding up the ancient ceiling just as they had done since time immemorial after first being built by their great architects. The gallery remained large until it suddenly and abruptly narrowed going downwards into the mountain. A roaring fire was on the floor near the narrowing yet there was no sight of people, though she doubted that those four were all there were, bandits seldom came in such low numbers.

Adriana advanced with a cautious and slow step as she went down deeper into the barrow, sword in one hand and torch held aloft in the other as she did so. It became less and less ornate as she advanced until it was plain, roughly hewn rock cut out of the mountain itself. She passed by ruined shelves with overturned offering urns, typical of bandits, nothing was sacred to thieves, not even the honored dead. The corridor went down only a bit further and around a few corners before a crumbling set of stairs was ahead of her. She crept down them as best as she could, hoping no loose rock would betray her to a man in the corridor before her before she paused as he walked forward into the larger room before them. It contained as best as she could see, rubble, and a wrought iron gate that blocked any further passage through the ruins. "Well that's...deterring." She muttered aloud as she watched the man examine something in the center of the floor, which a few seconds later he revealed to be a very strong looking lever.

The bandit pulled the lever with a bit of force behind it and it swung forward, though nothing happened for a long second before it reset itself automatically somehow, which was about the time that arrows started flying from the walls. The bandit didn't have so much time to blink much less reach before he was turned into a rather literal pincushion and fell to the ground, motionless. Sheathing her sword, Adriana advanced on the room, stepping over the dying man's body as she reached the center of the room. Her eyes scanned quickly around the room for some hint of how to get the lever to properly operate when they came across the small statues on the side of the room. Crossing over to them she prodded at one with her hand, it slid rather easily, somehow suspended in motion. She once more looked around the room when her eyes caught the emblems embedded in the upper wall as well as one which had fallen some years before to the floor. Taking it as a hint she moved the small statue-pillars until they mimicked the emblems perfectly, then crossing the floor to the lever she yanked it forward, the gate before her coming up with a resounding, rusted groan of metal that had not moved since the First Era.

Several skeevers, some small amount of treasures and a particularly large and nasty Frostbite spider later she came to stand before a Dunmer stuck in spider web. "I'd ask but I have this feeling I don't want to know." She said simply, before he could launch protest she set her torch to the webs which burned away easily causing the Dunmer to fall to the ground. He immediately ran off further into the barrow. "That's how people get themselves killed..." She muttered as she drew her sword and hurried after him.

It was only a few minutes after that she found herself surrounded by draugr, having been down to Cyrodiil before in her life she had to appreciate how "fresh" the Ancient Nedes kept their dead in comparison to the rotting zombies of Cyrodiilic caves, it however made them no more appealing when they were trying to lop her head off with ancient yet still sharp swords. Draugr were also doubly hard than zombies, she noted; with a zombie it was a matter of hacking its limbs off until it stopped moving, draugr on the other hand she'd had no such luck so far with the two that were now lacking arms and one that was crawling due to its lack of a leg. When she started back-swinging to take their heads off she got more results, the bodies immediately went limp and fell over once more dead. She ran the now dead Dunmer's pockets and produced the ornamental claw the Imperial in Riverwood had wanted back.

Pressing on and after a few more clashes with more draugr and after figuring out a large puzzling door that the claw turned out to be a key to; she came to find herself in a natural cavern. The temple's ruins simply stopped for a while before picking up again in the middle of the cave. A raised dias wreathed by a low stone wall on one end and an altar of some kind on the other greeted her as she went forward. The long night was starting to drag on her but at the moment she had some strength remaining as she climbed the crumbling steps of the dias. The most interesting thing came of note to her as she reached the top, while the wall itself was a drab gray slab it was written on in some kind of language, a language that she somehow understood. It was no language of man, nor any form of Merish she'd ever heard of, and one of the words in what seemed to be a long list was talking to her; no, not talking, reverberating across her mind, ingraining itself into her knowledge by some ancient arcane ritual that felt...natural.

Almost autonomously as though she were some Dwemer machine she approached the wall and ran her fingers over the glowing word that she understood somehow, it translated itself into the language she spoke, Cyrodiilic. _Force._

She almost didn't notice the great-sword that came barreling passed her head, embedding itself in the ancient wall. Avoiding being beheaded, Adriana sidestepped and turned on her heel to come face to face with an armored draugr; on instinct she brought her sword up to parry its next blow, the force behind it numbed her arms considerably though she did manage to keep hold of her sword; though the torch clattered away. The dance that came next was far less swordsmanship and reminded her greatly of the melees that took place during the War. On the defensive most of the time she led the draugr backwards towards the edge of the dias, when it came forward again for a particularly powerful swing she sidestepped suddenly as it was in the middle of its arc, sending the disgusting creature over the side of the dias, several sickening cracks of bone followed.

This however did not stop the creature. Shambling on a broken leg and its head grotesquely bent off to one side the draugr raggedly climbed back on to the dias, Adriana, deciding that this had gone on quite long enough, came in with a powerful and haphazardous swing that took and separated the zombie's broken neck from its fractured skull in one motion; after which she fell to a knee, breathing heavily. A minute passed before she collected herself and searched the altar which the draugr had come out of, a particularly important and ancient looking stone caught her eye, so she took it as well. A blast of fresh and dewy air struck her in the face as she climbed a secondary dias opposite the one with the talking wall, which brought a smile to her tired face, she was close to the surface once again and would soon enough be able to rest; once she returned the damn statue and warned the Jarl in Whiterun of the happenings of the now previous day...


End file.
